


Move On

by susieq22



Series: Not Requested Fics [17]
Category: Layton Kyouju Series | Professor Layton Series
Genre: Blood, Gen, Gunshot Wounds, Miracle Mask Spoilers, Suicidal Ideation, Wounds, fic shows the aftermath of des being a Dumbass and running into that army at the end of miracle mask, mentions of dead family members -- olivia and violet sycamore, they're dead here i'm going Canon in this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-29
Updated: 2019-09-29
Packaged: 2020-11-02 18:14:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20811389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/susieq22/pseuds/susieq22
Summary: Desmond gets hurt after running into Targent's army at the end of Miracle Mask. Raymond takes care of (and yells at) him.





	Move On

“Desmond, what were you thinking?” Raymond actually crossed his arms. Desmond stared up at him, hunched over and gripping his shoulder. Sand dusted his suit and hair where it had slipped out from under his hat. His eyes were wide, mouth slightly open. Raymond let his arms fall limply to his sides. “You charged into an _army_ who was shooting at you – not only that but you nearly let your identity be known!”

“Doesn’t matter,” Desmond wheezed. “I think – he already knows. I could see it in his eyes.”

“All the more reason to just walk away –”

“_And let him get away with what he’s done_ –”

“_Killing yourself_ will not solve anything!” Desmond went quiet. “I know you’re upset at them – him – but allowing yourself to _fall to them_ will not help. What about your _family_? What about _me_?” Raymond was mad – he was terrified. Seeing Desmond charge into that army, bullets whizzing past him as he tore off his cloak, seeing him taken down so _effortlessly_ by Bronev, had been more of an eye-opener than anything to Raymond.

“…Do not bring my family into this,” Desmond finally whispered, rage making his voice tremble. “They’re the _reason_ I’m doing this, Raymond.”

“But do you think they’d be happy with what you’re doing?” The red-eyed man stared up at him, then to the side, then, finally, he looked down at the ground. His grip on his shoulder tightened. “They’d want you to move on.”

“You don’t know what they would have wanted.” Desmond took his hand off his shoulder enough to motion for Raymond to get on with it. Where the suit covered the wound was dark with blood, and his hand was stained red. “Can we – continue this when I don’t have a bullet in my shoulder and sand all over me, thanks?”

Raymond knelt down to help Desmond shrug out of his suit jacket, thin fingers working the buttons on his shirt free. “And why would that be?” He mumbled.

“Shut up.” He hissed as the white shirt was peeled away. Raymond balled up the soiled pieces of clothing to throw away, looking under the bed in Desmond’s room to grab the first aid box. Flipping it open, he grabbed a few wipes and a pair of tweezers.

“I’m not going to be here forever to patch you up when you let your emotions get the better of you.” Raymond wiped away the blood, then started digging through the hole in his shoulder with the tweezers. Desmond twitched, face twisting as he inhaled sharply. “I just want to make sure you won’t end up killing yourself when I’m not around anymore.”

Desmond didn’t respond. Raymond’s tweezers caught on something. He sighed, then maneuvered the tweezers, trying to pinch and pull out the foreign object. He could hear Desmond’s teeth grinding together. Finally, he got a good grip on the bullet in his shoulder, and he finally pulled it out. Blood oozed from the irritated wound. Desmond clamped a hand back over the wound as Raymond leaned back to look through the box for a needle and thread and gauze. He pulled out some more wipes.

He cleaned the wound, then began stitching it up. Desmond’s expression changed, then, becoming more thoughtful through the pain. They remained silent, Raymond sending cautious, worried glances at both Desmond’s face and the dark bruise on his abdomen from Bronev’s knee.

“…Do you think –” Desmond paused, swallowed, then continued, not looking at Raymond. “Do you really think all these years have been useless? Me, doing…?” He gestured at himself with his free hand. Raymond continued dressing his wounds, thinking for a moment before answering.

“I think it’s useless to put yourself in danger.” Raymond finished dressing Desmond’s wound, then sat back again. “And to lose yourself in a revenge plan that will never make you happy.”

“But he’s the reason –”

“I know, but revolving your entire life around bringing someone down isn’t healthy. It’s been nearly ten years, Desmond. You need to move on.”

Desmond gave a sad smile. “I have nothing left to live for, Raymond. Surely you must know this.”

Raymond looked at him. “I know you believe that. I do not.” He stood. “Let’s get you cleaned up. You need to rest.”


End file.
